


Pistols and Pirouettes

by cold_nights_summer_days



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Clint Barton, BAMF Clint Barton, Ballet, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Gen, Guns, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Kid Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Natasha Romanov-centric, POV Clint Barton, POV Natasha Romanov, Phyical Abuse (mostly just mentioned but is wrote about), Protective Clint Barton, Red Room (Marvel), Shooting, Twelve Dancing Princesses AU, because i want yall to stay safe, but just a warning that its there, stay safe my dudes please scroll past if this will bring up bad memories for you, technically because she is under eighteen for most of this, the non-con isn't explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2020-04-11 13:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19110967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cold_nights_summer_days/pseuds/cold_nights_summer_days
Summary: Natasha Romanov is a student at the Red Room Ballet Academy. One night her and her roommates discover some loose floorboards in the back of their room that leads to a secret tunnel. For three nights Natasha sneaks out of the school through the tunnel, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends.ORA Twelve Dancing Princesses AU featuring Natasha Romanov and the Red Room Ballet Academy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bucket_1917](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bucket_1917/gifts).



> Hi! Thank you for choosing to read my story, but just a reminder, there is mentions/scenes with abuse (physical and emotional) as well as mentions/scenes of nonconsensual relationships. Nothing graphic, but I want all you lovelies to know so that if you don't want to/can't read something like that because it is very important to stay safe around triggers! That being said, I hope you all enjoy and please leave comments (constructive criticism is especially welcome, I accept any chance to improve my writing) and kudos if you like it. This has been read through but only minor edits have been made, so if there are mistakes they are all mine and please let me know so I can fix them. I mostly wrote this to avoid working on my main writing project (but don't tell my best friend, because she would be disappointed in me). 
> 
> P.S. I used Natalya instead of Natalia because it's another Russian spelling of the name. Sorry if that bothers any of you hardcore fans out there.

Twelve girls of various heights and ages stood in the middle of a courtyard. Not in a straight line, for they had not yet learned to do so, but in a group. They chatted excitedly amongst themselves. Their luggage had already been sent to the dormitories upstairs; now they only waited for their instructor to introduce herself. 

Fifteen minutes later, a lady in a formfitting black dress stepped into the courtyard. She commanded the attention of the twelve little girls. They looked upon her with awe; she was the best ballet instructor in Europe and rumored to be the best in the world. Though she wore an expression of warmth, her tone was anything but when she spoke. 

“Stand in a straight line. No more of this sloppiness will ensue; lest you be sent home,” the lady said stiffly. Her posture was as stiff as her voice while she waited for the giggling girls to organize themselves. Once they had finished, she spoke again. The instructor beckoned to one of the smaller girls who could be no more than seven, calling her to come closer. The little girl complied. Her short red hair bounced as she rocked back and forth on her heels.

“Stand still. What is your name?” the instructor asked. She even smiled, the expression so out of place with her tone. 

“Natalya, madam. My name is Natalya,” The little red-haired girl answered. Her voice, a stark contrast from the adult in front of her, was loud.

“Incorrect. I believe I will call you Natasha. That is a much prettier name, is it not? Much more powerful. Though you do not fit that name now, you will grow into it. Learn to fit it. Is that clear?”

Natalya nodded meekly. She did not understand. Was her name not good enough? Natalya figured it fit fine. Instead of questioning the stiff lady’ s decisions, she stepped back into line as the next girl was called. She was given the name Dottie.

The Red Room would steal much from these girls before their time there was done. Their names, identities, were merely first. 

⧗⧗⧗

Natasha stared in the dirty mirror, disappointed. Her hair was becoming too long for the Instructor’s liking and she would be forced to cut it soon. Natasha always liked her hair long, liked to run her fingers through it and plait it before bed. She sighed. If she spent anymore time dawdling in the bathroom someone would be sent to look for her. 

With one last look in the mirror, she turned and walked into the dark hallways. Night had fallen on another long day of training and while Natasha wanted nothing more than to rest her aching feet, she didn’t want to fall asleep. Falling asleep meant waking up the next day. Waking up meant more grueling training. Life in the Red Room was a vicious cycle. One that even after nine years spent trapped in its clutches, nobody had managed to break. 

The girls were whispering quietly in the dormitory. Most had found their way to bed. Some were already snoring soundly. Natasha envied them. Instead of sleeping soundly, dreaming pleasantly, she would lie awake and count the cracks in the ceiling. She already knew there were two hundred and thirty-one, but she liked to make sure nothing had changed on her. 

“Good night, Natasha.” Peggy, another Red Room girl, said. Their beds had been next to each other’s since they arrived all those years ago. Nobody knew how long ago that was. Time wasn’t much of a concept in the program beyond what day it was. Years didn’t matter. A girl could only measure time by the way she saw her face change in the mirror.

“Good night, Peggy.” Natasha responded. No response would be rude, anything more would be suspicious. Natasha was known for disagreeing with the Instructor. Her skill set was the only reason she was still with the program. Skill set aside; Natasha didn’t want to put Peggy on the Instructor’s radar any more than she had to be.

Five minutes later one of the Instructor’s lackeys came around, checking each room to make sure every candle had been put out. Curfew officially began when the lackeys o put the candles out at night and ended when they lit them again in the morning. They were the only ones who had matches. Nobody in their right mind would hand a trained assassin a match box. Unlucky for them, that’s what they all were. Trained assassins. 

⧗⧗⧗

Many months and a haircut later, Natasha walked into the dormitory to find everyone already asleep. She had gotten in trouble today for messing up a routine on stage. The girls still had to do performances to keep up with appearances. It wasn’t a big deal to Natasha, but the Instructor hurled insults at her until her throat was raw. 

Natasha hated the Instructor.

That night she did manage to fall asleep. She dreamed of pistols and pirouettes. In the morning, nobody spoke to her. By now they had learned that to be associated with Natasha was wrong. Dangerous. They learned that if they wished to keep their spot in the land of the living, avoiding the troublesome red head was the way to go.

⧗⧗⧗

Being alone all the time wasn’t so terrible, or so Natasha tried to tell herself. She never spoke much before. _“Ladies, as dancers you learn to keep your movements quiet. Nobody likes to hear an elephant stomping around on stage. Take that lesson beyond the stage. Let it spread throughout your life. Remember, ladies, be quiet”_. Her interactions with Peggy were the extent of her conversations, aside from an occasional ‘pass the salt’ at dinner. She missed those now. The girls sat as far away from her as they could at the dinner table, used the opposite side of the barre in practice, and the ones who slept near her made a point to be asleep before she walked in the room. 

So no, being alone all the time wasn’t so terrible. It was the being lonely part that was. Now that she had no interactions (other than getting yelled at by the Instructor) to fill her time she often found herself wondering what her life was like before the Red Room. She had some memories; a pair of smiling faces with features much like her own, a room that seemed decorated just for her. She even remembered the boy who used to be her neighbor, albeit vaguely. Natasha only remembered him because she had a crush on him.

The more she tried to remember what life was before the Red Room the lonelier she felt. When she thought about the smiling faces it only reminded her that nobody smiled at her like that now. The room reminded her that she had no real belongings, nothing personal to decorate with. The boy reminded her of feelings she knew she would never feel again. 

Natasha’s heart ached almost as much as her feet. Like her feet longed for rest, she longed to have a conversation. A real one. With someone who cared about her.

⧗⧗⧗

Many moons and another unpleasant visit to the Instructor later, one of the guards noticed her attitude. Natasha fought hard to keep her face neutral but one day, a particularly lonely day, her façade slipped. Several tears fell before she could stop them. 

“What’s wrong, miss?” He asked. He was taller than Natasha by several inches, forcing her to look up at him. 

“Nothing, sir. I’ll just be on my way,” She sniffed. Curfew was in ten minutes and she couldn’t afford to be late again. Natasha turned to leave, but the guard caught her wrist.

“Now, now. We both know that’s not true. What kind of man would I be if I let you go in such a state of distress?” 

Natasha had heard stories from the upper classmen. Passed in secret, of course, warning the younger students to avoid the guards. Yet knowing what was about to happen, she stood there unmoving as the guard continued. He reached behind her and tugged her bun loose, letting her blazing hair fall down her shoulders in waves. 

“Some fun ought to cheer you up.” The guard said. Natasha tried to shake her head, wrench her arm from his grasp, anything to get her away from here. She was an assassin in training, a ninth-year student at the Red Room Ballet Academy, and still she froze. Could do nothing as he led her to the barracks.

That night she lay awake in a bed that was not her own, counting new cracks on a new ceiling. Natasha desperately wished for a way out, prayed to a god she did not believe in to give her leave. Sure, she would end up in hell when she died. But wasn’t she already there?  
⧗⧗⧗  
The girls lightened up on her after that. When she came back the next morning with a haunted look in her eyes, they knew instantly. That was how the upperclassmen looked when warning them. Peggy nearly jumped from her bed and wrapped Natasha in a hug. The feeling was so foreign to her she didn’t know what to do. 

In the end, she cried.

Peggy whispered soothing words until they had to dress and leave for breakfast. Natasha welcomed the interaction she had so longed for, hating herself for every minute of it. Hating the way, she earned it. When the Instructor passed their table, she didn’t comment on the sudden change of seating arrangements (Natasha now in the middle) or Natasha’s red-rimmed eyes. Even more surprising, the Instructor didn’t work them as hard during training that day. 

⧗⧗⧗

Weeks flew by in monotony until what the academy called Testing Day. Testing Day was when all students proved their skillset. The day that the Instructor decided if you were good enough to move on. It was rare that a student didn’t pass the test; all the girls knew the consequence of failure.

The ninth years were held in one of the training rooms as they waited to be called. Some, like Peggy and Dottie, were warming up at the barre. Others were sitting along the mirrored wall or doing stretches on the floor.

There was no order to the way names were being called. It kept everyone on edge, not knowing who was next. Wanda was first, Maria second, Hope third. Natasha was tenth. The two girls who were left, Val and Carol, wished her luck as she walked away. Natasha was reminded of the Instructor’s words from last week. 

_“There is no such thing as luck. All you have to rely on is your skillset.”_

Natasha hoped her skillset was enough. It didn’t matter how many times the Instructor knocked her down, she still wanted to prove herself. To prove she had what it took to keep going. Maybe it was all out of spite. Every time the Instructor told her she wasn’t good enough it made her try harder. 

“Target practice first, routine second.” The Instructor said, pleasantries forgotten. Her voice was just as stiff as the first time Natasha ever spoke to her. Back when she was still Natalya, innocent seven-year-old from a backwater town in Russia.

Natasha nodded once in affirmation before stepping towards the table in the middle of the room. The pistol on the table was unassembled, but that was no issue to her. In less than thirty seconds she had the gun assembled, safety off, and was aiming towards the target. 

But this year wasn’t just a bullseye. It was a man. He was kneeling not thirty feet away from her, hands tied behind his back and a canvas bag over his head. Natasha had her finger on the trigger, but she couldn’t bring herself to shoot. 

“There is no room for compassion here.” 

_There should be_ , Natasha thought. Nine years in this place hadn’t broken her compassion. It had broken her spirit, her soul, but not her compassion. 

“If you can’t do it, then leave.” 

She pulled the trigger. 

Danced the routine.

And threw up in the toilet once her test was over.

⧗⧗⧗

Tenth year was when the girls began sparring on each other. Began using live targets for practice. Every day once training was over, Natasha repeated her ritual of throwing up in the toilet. What she was capable of disgusted her. At the Red Room Ballet Academy, they took the adage ‘Kill or be killed’ seriously. If the Instructor knew what she was doing, she didn’t let on.

That night Natasha didn’t count the cracks in the ceiling. She couldn’t stop thinking about what the Instructor said dinner that day. 

_“Let’s give a round of applause to Claudia. She has just gotten home from her first mission!”_

They had applauded plenty of girls for their first successful mission before. That wasn’t the part she was hung up on. It was the Instructor’s use of the word ‘home’. How could this place be ‘home’? Natasha didn’t have much of a frame of reference for what home meant, but she was certain that this wasn’t it. 

Natasha wondered where the pair of smiling faces were now. Did they worry about her? Miss her? She missed them even though she didn’t even know their names. Maybe she had at some point. The Red Room had stolen so much from her that she wouldn’t be surprised if they had stolen her memories too. 

⧗⧗⧗

“Natasha, come look at what we found,” Peggy said in a hushed voice. Curfew was soon, which meant the guards were coming to put out the candles. A few years back everyone had learned to keep quiet about anything they found; if they weren’t it would be taken away. 

“What is it?” Peggy led Natasha to the back-left corner of the room where a few of the girls were huddled. The others were spread out to make it seem less suspicious. It was still rather suspicious anyway, especially because the ones not in the corner kept casting glances their way.

“There’s something under the floorboards. It looks like a room, but nobody’s gone down there yet.”

They reached the huddle of girls all whispering to each other about who should go down there first. None of them wanted to be the first down the creepy ladder into the creepier subterranean room.

“I’ll go,” Natasha said. She wasn’t scared of much other than herself, making her the perfect candidate for the job. Before anyone could object, she grabbed a candle from the nearest nightstand and began slipping into the tunnel.

The dirt floor was cold through her pointe shoes. The candle lit the small room rather well, showing her stacks of boxes. All were covered in dust that hadn’t been disturbed in years. Natasha tried to call up to the others and tell them of her discovery but was quickly shushed as the floorboards were moved back into place.

“Be quiet, they’re coming to snuff the candles.” Wanda said. Natasha heard the floor creak above her as everyone rushed to get in bed. While she waited for the floorboard to be lifted again, she began looking through the boxes. She almost sneezed when the dust flew up her nose.

She was shocked to find that each box was filled with old ballet costumes. Some short, some long, all ornate. There was one that caught her eye. Natasha set the candle on the box next to her and lifted the dress out of the box. It was much longer than what they normally wore for performances, and Natasha guessed it would fall somewhere around her knees. The black dress felt expensive in her hands, with sheer long sleeves and a high neckline. Grey and white feathers lined the arms of the dress, making them look like wings. Besides that, the bodice was plain, and the skirt had jewels sown into the hem, meant to catch the light when the dancer twirled. 

A few minutes later the floorboard moved again, and Peggy’s face appeared to tell her it was safe to come back up. Natasha placed the dress back in the box gently and grabbed the candle. While moving to climb the ladder she noticed a small hatch in the floor. It was two feet square with a small handle and rusted hinges. 

“Wait, Pegs, there’s something else down here.” Natasha said, bending to open the hatch. It revealed another ladder.

“Natasha, you need to come up here before someone wonders where you’ve gone,” Peggy insisted, despite wanting to know where that ladder went as much as Natasha did. 

“They’ll just think I’ve gone to the barracks. I’m going to go check this out.” Natasha was already halfway down the ladder.

“No! Nat, what if something happens and nobody’s there to help you?”

“If you’re that worried, then come with me.” So, Peggy did. Wanda covered the floorboards for them and wished them luck.

Ladder #2 led to a tunnel. The tunnel was cramped and smelled musty, but Natasha was excited to be somewhere new. Neither of them thought about the dirt that was staining their pointe shoes and the trouble they would get for it in the morning.

Eventually the tunnel came out in a colored forest. The full moon peaked through the nearly bare tree branches and the air was cool. Peggy tried to convince Natasha to turn back.

“Just a little longer, Pegs. I want to see what’s out here. Don’t you?” Natasha asked. Her words seemed louder in the unfamiliar forest air. Peggy sighed. She wanted to go back to the Academy—nobody did—but she wasn’t going to leave Natasha on her own. God knew how much trouble that would cause if she was left on her own.

The pair soon reached the outskirts of a small village and Natasha never once stopped to consider how much of a bad idea this probably was. Music and raucous laughter could be heard in the streets, drawing Natasha to the center of the village where a festival was taking place. There were pavilions filled with food, strings of hanging lanterns, and in the middle of it all, a large space for everyone to dance. Their out of place attire drew some attention, but most of the people were too intoxicated to care that two girls they had never met before had shown up in pointe shoes and full ballet practice attire. Said shoes and practice attire were splattered with mud. Not the best first impression by any means. 

Before either of them had a chance to properly investigate, a man wearing a plain button up shirt came up to them. Neither girl knew what to make of this; his body language suggested he wasn’t a threat (they learned how to determine that in second year) and he was wearing a tipsy smile. Peggy and Natasha shared a glance. 

“Would you care for a dance?” He asked, looking at Natasha. She thought of the boy she used to have a crush on before her life went to shit. The two had similar short brown hair and the same broad shoulders, but that’s where the comparisons stopped. This stranger had blue eyes instead of brown and his nose was bigger. Still, he reminded her so much of the childhood crush she had thought about for the last three years. Would Natasha have danced with that boy all those years ago had he asked her?

Yes, she would have. Would have loved to even. Knowing this could never happen again, she agreed to dance. Despite not knowing even this man’s name, he felt like a connection to the brief life she had before the Red Room had stolen it from her. So, she ignored Peggy’s insistent looks and danced with the man who later introduced himself as Clint. 

Natasha picked up the steps to the new dances quickly. Every time she missed a step or accidentally stepped on her partner’s toes, she looked up for fear of retribution. She was baffled when it never came. 

Missteps never came without punishment. 

“I’m sorry,” Natasha said when she stepped on his foot for the umpteenth time, voice timid. 

“Don’t worry about it. Everyone messes up sometimes.” He smiled when he said it. Natasha swore she felt her heart stutter. 

Later that evening found Natasha and Clint walking through the empty streets of the village. Clint had tired out after just four dances, suggesting in the middle of their fourth they should go for a walk. Natasha was wary—she had the Red Room guards to thank for that—but was comforted with the knowledge that she could defend herself if need be. She wasn’t too worried, though. Clint had done nothing to suggest he would do such a thing. 

Natasha tried to avoid thinking about such things. This was the first night in thousands that she felt herself smiling and laughing. Not a hushed laugh at an insult a fellow student whispered to her about the Instructor or one of the particularly ugly guards, but a full, hearty laugh. 

It felt foreign, but as with everything else that night, that was good. Noticing the moon slipping closer and closer to the western horizon, Natasha sighed. All good things had to end sometime.

“What’s got you down?” Clint asked, interrupting his own story about a crazy hunting trip he had had with his brother.

“I have to leave,” She answered. Natasha had never wanted for much other than connection, now that she had the smallest taste of it, she had to leave. 

“Will you be back tomorrow?” Clint’s voice was hopeful. Natasha doubted she could make it out here again. If she could she wished, she could bring all the tenth years with her. Let them experience this slice of the outside world. It would be disastrous if they got caught, and Natasha didn’t need her friends’ “expulsions” on her conscience. In the end, Natasha simply shook her head. It hurt to say the words out loud. 

“I don’t think so,”

“I’ll be waiting. In the pavilion.”

“I can’t do this again, Clint. This was a one-time deal for me. If I get caught. . .” The last part she mumbled more to herself. She hoped her and Peggy would make it back in time for breakfast. 

“I’ll be waiting. It’s okay if you don’t show, its okay. Just know that I’ll be waiting.” 

⧗⧗⧗

Natasha’s movements were slow at breakfast the next morning. She struggled to get the grey mush on her plate to her mouth, nearly spilling it on herself multiple times. Warm-ups, normally easy for her, felt impossible. Natasha had no idea how she was going to make it through the day. She didn’t regret the night before, however. She doubted she ever would. 

During a run through of the routine Natasha was to perform at the next show (Natasha wondered how long the school was going to keep up the façade) the Instructor called for her to stop. Maria looked at her nervously from the sidelines. Natasha followed her gaze down to her pointe shoes. They were still mud splattered. 

“What happened to your shoes, Natasha?” the Instructor asked. Natasha swallowed all signs of nervousness. They had learned in first year to mask their emotions, and how to pass a lie detector test in fifth. This should be easy for her. 

“A puddle, madam. In the courtyard. I stepped in it on the way to practice today,” She lied. The Instructor didn’t seem to believe her, but let her go, nonetheless. 

“Scrub them clean before dinner. You will not be getting a new pair.”

“Yes, madam.” Natasha breathed. An audible sigh could be heard from Peggy’s side of the room. 

⧗⧗⧗

“That was a close call, Nat. You could have gotten in serious trouble,” Peggy whispered at dinner. Natasha knew Peggy was right, but she wasn’t about to let her know that. 

“Maybe, but I’m fine.” Natasha was physically in the dining hall, but mentally she was in the square of the little village. She so desperately wanted to escape there again tonight.

“Don’t tell me you’re going back there. Promise me you won’t.” Natasha was almost certain Peggy could read minds. 

“You can’t stop me,” She said. Just one more night, Natasha reasoned, and then she wouldn’t go anymore. “He said he would be waiting for me. In the pavilion.”

“The Instructor could find out. By playing this game, you’re just waiting for an expulsion. Don’t throw your life away over a boy you barely know.”

“I’m not throwing my life away, Peggy. This isn’t life. There simply isn’t anything to throw away.”

⧗⧗⧗

Even after Peggy’s warning, Natasha still decided to sneak out. Wanda said she would cover for her if need be while she was gone. 

“Thank you, Wanda.” Natasha said, carefully slipping between the floorboards and down the ladder. She had changed into her technique shoes (they were black, making the dirt harder to see) and had grabbed a darker pair of tights to match. Once she had reached the room full of boxes, she dug through the boxes to find a dress. She hoped it would help her stand out less.

Eventually picking one with a plain white bodice and hand-dyed skirt, Natasha changed quickly and descended the second ladder to the tunnel. The trip through the tunnel and the forest felt longer than before without Peggy to chat with. Natasha also had to be more careful as she didn’t want to rip the dress.

As promised, she found Clint waiting for her in the pavilion. Upon catching sight of her his face stretched into a smile.

“Hey,” Clint breathed. He was slightly shocked Natasha had returned, and for him of all people. 

“Hey yourself,” She returned, a smile stretched across her face too. The pair stood awkwardly for a minute. Both were unsure of what to do considering neither thought they would make it this far. 

“Do you want to, um, to dance?” Clint asked, all thoughts of being smooth flying out the window. 

“Yeah, yeah. That would be nice.” Clint led her from the pavilion to the middle of the square as the musicians were playing the notes of a new song. Tonight, Natasha was much better about stepping on her partners toes. During the quieter notes of the songs she was sure she could hear how fast her heart was racing. This—dancing because she wanted to with the person she wanted to, without the looming threat of the Instructor—was exhilarating. Intoxicating, even.

It had been so long since she could choose something for herself that she didn’t quite know what to do with the feeling. Natasha wondered how Peggy could try and convince her to avoid this like the plague. She had even seen Peggy dancing with a skinny blond, and she seemed to enjoy it. Where was the disconnect? Because Natasha wanted to share this with everyone. Because everyone deserved something so wonderful that none of them had experienced since enrolling in the Red Room Ballet Academy.

“Can I bring a few friends tomorrow?” Natasha asked, biting her lip nervously. Years at the academy had taught her many things, and not to ask questions was at the top of the list. Sure, she had asked a few between last night and tonight, but none so important. 

“Yeah, of course. The festival goes on for three more days. But you don’t have to ask me.” Just then the band announced they were taking a quick rest. They were both okay with that; they had danced five songs together and were ready for a rest as well. 

Much later, after they had rested and eaten, the two sat on the edge of town like they had the night before. It was there that Clint asked her a question she couldn’t answer. Natasha wanted to desperately, she did, but she knew she couldn’t. It could get her in trouble. Could get Clint in trouble for knowing. He asked her where she was from. 

She had two options; deflect or lie. Neither option was appealing. Natasha turned the question and its possible answers around in her head, looking for a way out of the situation. 

“I’m . . . not from here. I just go to school here.” She said eventually. It wasn’t a lie, technically. Still, saying it killed some of the butterflies in her stomach. 

“Are you a student at the Red Room Academy? I don’t mean to pry, but after seeing you and your friend wearing ballet shoes that’s what I’ve been thinking. You don’t have to answer,” Clint was spot on. If only he knew that it wasn’t just a ballet school and the girl in front of him wasn’t as innocent as he thought.

“I’ve studied there since I was a little girl.”

“I heard its one of the best ballet schools on the continent. I haven’t seen other schools perform, but my family used to go to the Midseason Showcase as a holiday tradition. We haven’t been for a few years since everyone started moving out, but everyone is supposed to come back this year and we’ll be going.” Clint’s expression was wistful as he explained the old family tradition. It was clear that he missed going. Natasha wondered if he recognized her. Part of her hoped he did. The other part knew it was a stupid thing to hope for. 

“That sounds nice. My family doesn’t have any traditions, at least not that I know of. I haven’t been home since coming here,” She sighed. The last part wasn’t meant to be said but the words slipped out anyways. Suddenly the cool autumn air felt much colder. Natasha shivered before she could stop herself.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize how chilly it is out here, especially in short sleeves. My Ma would beat me if she heard I didn’t offer my jacket. Probably yell about how she thought she raised me right,” Clint laughed, draping the light jacket he had been wearing around Natasha’s shoulders. She smiled, the foreign feeling in her chest growing. The Red Room had taught her that the foreign and unknown were bad, but how could something that felt so good be so bad?

Natasha thanked him, blushing. This feeling couldn’t be bad. It didn’t hurt, it didn’t sting. Didn’t make her want to vomit and didn’t make her want to hide. It made her want to smile and laugh. To dance because she was asked, not because she was forced. This feeling felt much different than the way she cared about her friends, different from the way she must have cared about the pair of smiling faces she saw at night. 

Conclusion; the Red Room was wrong. The Instructor was wrong. Foreign and unfamiliar didn’t always mean bad. Sometimes they meant good. 

⧗⧗⧗

It was quite a chore to sneak everyone out the next night. Natasha was already drop dead exhausted, but the more she thought about the last two nights the more she wanted to do it again. It was exhilarating to defy the Instructor. Soon enough the consequences would catch up with her. Peggy strongly advised the group against going (of course) but couldn’t get anyone to listen. With Natasha’s stories of the outside world they all wanted a taste. 

For the third night in a row, Natasha found herself on the outskirts of town with a boy who gave her butterflies. Her companions were god-knew where with strict instructions of when and where to meet. If she had been less tired, she may have realized how bad of an idea this was. As it was, she could barely keep her eyes open. Three days of training, three nights of dancing, zero nights of sleep. 

A true recipe for disaster. 

“I’m sorry, I forgot to bring your jacket back tonight.” Natasha had her head firmly pressed into Clint’s shoulder and held his hand tightly in hers. They sat on the same bench they had the previous two nights; far enough from the square so that it wasn’t too noisy but close enough to still hear the music playing softly.

“I don’t mind. It gives you an excuse to come back.” Clint hummed. They were both tired, though for vastly different reasons. Clint worked on his family’s farm. Natasha trained to be a killer. 

“I don’t know if I can,” She whispered, voice soft and filled with sorrow. Maybe if she was better rested the words that followed wouldn’t have fell from her mouth. “They don’t let us leave.”

“Nat, what do you mean they don’t let you leave? Do you mean like during the week?” Nat was the name Natasha had introduced herself as. She still hadn’t decided if it was short for Natasha or Natalya. She didn’t want to be Natasha but didn’t know if she could still be Natalya after what she’d been through.

“All the time. They never let us leave. We aren’t supposed to be here. Had to sneak out.” She mumbled. By this point her eyes were closed.

“Don’t go back. Stay here, I’m sure someone could take you in— “

“Can’t. Instructor will hurt,” Natasha had to pause while she yawned, “my friends if I don’t.”

“Hurt them? Isn’t there something we could do? What if none of you go back.” Clint was worried. The more he heard the worse the Red Room Ballet Academy came off. 

“Then they look for us. Just accept it. There’s no way out. I have.” The last sentence was so quiet that Clint missed it. If he had he would have felt his heart shatter. Natasha said her words with an air of acceptance. Like she had accepted defeat. 

For all he knew, she had.  
⧗⧗⧗

The next morning twelve tired students awoke to the Instructor ordering them out of bed and into formation. Each girl had dark circles under her eyes, a heavy feeling in their limbs, and anxiety in their gut. 

“Imagine my surprise when I showed up here last night for a surprise inspection and found all twelve beds empty.” The Instructor all but growled. Her usually blank face wore an expression of anger as she paced in front of the line of students.

“Do any of you wish to tell me where you all disappeared to last night?”

The Instructor’s question went unanswered. The girls were staring at anything but their teacher as they all simultaneously wished they could melt into a puddle on the pristine hardwood floor. 

“Very well. Until this situation is resolved, you are to have around the clock guard detail. No talking after seven or you will be punished. Finally, you will train through lunch, no breaks allowed. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Instructor. Understood.” The girls chorused back. 

They didn’t expect the handcuffs that night. Restraining them against the bedposts, as symbolic as they were physical. Natasha didn’t sleep that night. None of them did. 

⧗⧗⧗

Clint was worried when Natasha didn’t show up that night or the next. Both nights he spent his time moping around the festival, sighing when he caught a glimpse of blazing hair only to realize it wasn’t her. It wasn’t Nat. 

Three nights with anyone else wasn’t much, but with her it was a lot. Nat was reserved, actively avoiding talking about her own family and school and so many other things. That didn’t bother Clint though. He would find other things to talk about: favourite colors, the best time of the year, brightest star in the sky that night (and he wouldn’t admit this, but he thought it was her).

The first night he walked up to her because even in her out of place clothes and the mud splattered on her outfit, she was still the most radiant person in the square.

The second night he had given her his jacket because he thought she was cold, but also because he wondered what she would look like wearing something of his.

The third night he looked at her falling asleep on his shoulder because even with the exhaustion distinct in her features she was stunning. 

He only hoped he would get the chance to tell her, but with the way the wind was blowing, it didn’t seem likely. 

⧗⧗⧗

In late October, the Red Room Academy began preparing for the Midseason Showcase. During these times it was hardest for Natasha to not think about Clint. When she wasn’t thinking about the routine, she was thinking of him. Thinking of how he said he would be going to the showcase this year. Wondering if he would remember her. Sometimes she even thought about sneaking out again, but she knew there was no way she could. Even if it weren’t for the guards, she was handcuffed to her bed at night. There was no hope of sneakily unlocking it either. Each night the girls were searched for items considered to be contraband (I.E. anything you can pick a lock with). 

That daydream kept her going as much as it destroyed her.

⧗⧗⧗

The night of the Midseason Showcase was fast approaching, setting all the students on edge. Practice was as rigorous as ever. The tenth years still had to practice through lunch, something they all found extremely difficult. Even still, none of them would tell the Instructor the truth. That night was theirs and theirs only. The girls refused to let the Red Room have another thing of theirs. 

The longer the girls kept their secrets the angrier the Instructor became. She was normally calm and collected, and mean from the students’ point of view, but recently she had slapped a twelfth year for slipping while warming up. The poor twelfth year—a girl named Virginia—had a mark on her cheek for several days. Since everyone knew the cause of her anger was the tenth years, they began to receive pressure to come clean. 

One day on her way back to the dormitories she was cornered by two eleventh years. One held her against the wall while the other talked. 

“You stupid tenth years and your secrets,” the second girl all but growled. “You better tell the Instructor where you went, or I might kill you before she does.”

Natasha refused and earned herself a kick to the ribs. The pair left her gasping for air on the floor, a few bones fractured. That night she barely made it back before curfew

“Maybe we should tell her. People are starting to get hurt,” Maria said, glancing up from her plate to look at her dinner companions. Wanda was sporting a fresh bruise on her neck, Natasha had several fractured ribs, and Maria herself had been tripped in the courtyard earlier that day. 

“People always get hurt here, Maria. The only difference is that now its physical instead of emotional.” Carol chimed in. The others hummed in agreement. 

“It’s not just us, though. Virginia got slapped because of us and our secret.”

“No, Virginia got slapped because she had bad posture and fell. That’s not our fault.” 

“Normally she would have only gotten yelled at. The Instructor is taking her anger at us out on the whole school.” Wanda said. Hope agreed with her. 

“She can’t have this.” Natasha scanned the room, checking to make sure the Instructor wasn’t listening to their conversation. “She takes everything from us, and I’m not letting her take this from me. The first rule of finding anything in this damned place is that we don’t tell anyone because it gets taken away. This isn’t any different.” 

“It is—” Maria tried to argue with Natasha but was cut off by her before she could say much.

“—No, it isn’t. I’m not giving this to her. She can hurt me all she wants, but I’m not giving this to her.”

Maria sighed. “Is this about that boy you were with? Nat face the facts. You aren’t going to see him again whether you tell the secret or not.”

“No,” Natasha said. Nobody believed her. “This is about us. This place has taken everything from us. These aren’t even our real names! They take and take and take and we let them! I draw the line here. They aren’t getting anything else from me.”

The Instructor ended their conversation by announcing curfew was in an hour. For the tenth years this meant they had to be in their room in five minutes. After they had changed from their practice gear and been searched, Natasha lay awake in bed. It was hard to sleep with her arm pinned at such an odd angle, but that was okay. She didn’t want to sleep anyway. Maria’s words played on a loop in her head. Despite knowing she was right, Natasha refused to believe her. She still had Clint’s jacket hidden in the cellar below the room and passionately believed she would return it to him. 

Maria’s words had the same effect the Instructor’s did. Telling Natasha she couldn’t do something only enforced the idea that she had to. 

⧗⧗⧗

Ever since Nat told him there was no way out for her, Clint refused to believe it. There had to be a way out for her. He just had to find it. 

That train of thought was what led to him crawling through the vents at the Midseason Showcase. To be honest, it was not the best plan he had come up with. As soon as his family had taken their seats near the front of the theater, he claimed he had to use the bathroom and slipped away. It had taken time to find a vent he could reach, but once he had the rest was easy

The school was much bigger than Clint had previously thought, however, most of the rooms were empty. Some even had cobwebs collecting in the corners. What was the point of having such a large facility if almost none of it was being used?

There was nobody in any of the hallways he passed. That made sense; they were all backstage. That also made his mission easier because nobody would hear him clunking around in the ceiling. 

The further he traveled the more horrified at what he saw. This place was supposed to be a ballet school, but it looked more like a military base. Rooms full of assembled and disassembled weapons. Rooms with targets. A morgue that smelled of fresh antiseptic. 

A room with twelve beds, each with a set of handcuffs. More still, none of the rooms with beds had doors and many had holes in the walls where it appeared a fist had been driven through the drywall. 

The Red Room wasn’t training ballerinas. They were training assassins.  
⧗⧗⧗

Natasha waited backstage practicing for her solo routine. Most students would be overjoyed (if they could show emotion, that is) to be given a solo dance. She, however, was not. This morning a guard woke her up two hours early—not that she was really sleeping, anyways—and dragged her to the Instructor’s office. From there the Instructor informed her she was to dance a twelfth-year level solo routine at the showcase tonight. Flawlessly.

Everyone knew it was the Instructor’s form of revenge. She told Natasha that she didn’t have to dance the solo if she told her where the girls went. Natasha refused. Those nights were hers. The Instructor didn’t think she could do it and would humiliate herself as a ballet student. It was cruel. But crueler still was the memory of those three blissful nights, taunting Natasha from the depths of her consciousness. She forced all thoughts of Clint and the outside world down. She couldn’t afford to be distracted tonight. 

As the music died down her heart began to race. The middle of her solo was still rough; there were complicated moves she hadn’t learned how to properly dance yet. When the stagehand called her name to go out, she took a deep breath. 

_I can do this. I must do this._

The first notes of her song began to play. Keeping her movements light, she danced across the stage. Natasha ran through the motions carefully. One slip, one stumble, and she proved the Instructor right. She finished the dance perfectly, completely out of spite. Give Natasha an impossible challenge and she’ll give you results. 

If the lights facing the stage weren’t so bright, she would have seen Clint sitting with his family in the middle section. He was giving her a sad smile. After she bowed and walked off stage she was met with the livid Instructor. 

“My office as soon as this is over.” She hissed.

⧗⧗⧗

Clint barely made it back to his seat before the ninth years were scheduled to dance. He hated to miss the beginning of the showcase but now he knew more than ever that he had to help Nat get out of here. He was going to talk to his uncle who also happened to be the director of an entire military division. 

He watched the ballerinas distractedly. It was hard to enjoy the show when he knew what these girls were going through, or at least a small part of it. Watching them dance so flawlessly made him wonder if they only did it because they were afraid of punishment. The thought reminded him of the first night he had danced with Nat. How every time she stumbled over her own feet or stepped on Clint’s toes her eyes would go wide as she looked up at him. Would pull back slightly as if preparing herself to leave quickly. 

Family traditions be damned, he hated this place and what it did to people. 

When Nat gracefully took her place on stage Clint recognized her instantly. Her hair was pulled back like the night he met her, face solemn. He wanted to run up on stage and pull her into a bone-crushing hug and whisper sweet nothings to make her feel better. He wanted to take her away from this place and erase the horrible memories it must have given her. 

Clint gave her a sad smile as she bowed. He promised her that he would get her out of here. 

⧗⧗⧗

“How dare you!” The Instructor shouted. It was rare to hear her shout, but Natasha couldn’t decide if this was worse than her normally calm demeanor. She bit her lip to keep the snide remarks from falling from her lips. 

The Instructor took several deep breaths before speaking again. When she did her words were as calm and collected as ever. Natasha wondered if there was a switch in her head that she could flip on and off for when she wanted to be calm because of how fast her attitude changed. 

“I will break you, Natasha.”

Silence.

“You’re dismissed.”

Natasha left as quickly as she could without actively running. A guard tried to ask her where she was off too, in the mood for a night of fun. He made the mistake of placing his hand on the small of her back. Before he could register what was going on Natasha had his arm twisted behind his back and he was pressed face first against the wall. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” She growled. She was feeling particularly self-destructive tonight and it felt good to take her rage on the Instructor out on someone who wouldn’t dare report her. It was particularly hard to refrain from slapping the guard who searched her for contraband and cuffed her to the bedpost. 

One day, she promised herself, she would get revenge on all these bastards.

⧗⧗⧗

Clint pictured the blueprints in his head as he tried to remember where the tenth-year dormitories were. That had to be where Natasha was. Technically he wasn’t supposed to be a part of the strike force his uncle sent to the Red Room, but he had snuck onto the base and subsequently one of the transports using a janitor’s security badge and a stolen tactical uniform. 

The hallway he was searching now appeared to be devoid of life. Everything was eerily still until he heard a cough near the end of the hall. Keeping his footsteps light Clint crept down the hallway to the door the sound came from and peeked his head in. This is what he saw: twelve beds with twelve sleeping girls cuffed to the bed posts, bars on the windows, and one guard facing away from the doorway. He quickly pulled the guard into a choke hold, tightening his grip until the guard passed out. 

Several pairs of eyes stared at him from the dark. It was creepy, really, but this whole place was creepy. Taking little girls and turning them into hardened assassins. Clint scanned the faces staring at him until he found who he was looking for. He practically ran across the room to her, taking the helmet of his suit off so she would recognize him. 

“Clint?” Nat asked, disbelief clear in her shaky voice and wide eyes. Clint nodded and moved to pick the lock on the cuffs preventing her from moving. 

“You can’t be here, not alone. They’ll—’ 

“It’s okay,” He said soothingly. “I’m here with a team, we’re here to get you out. All of you.”

It took Clint several tries to pick the lock. When they fell off, he winced at the angry marks left behind on Nat’s wrist. He wanted to make the Red Room pay. But first, he and Nat had to help the rest of these girls. Most stared at him like they didn’t believe he was real or they thought their loyalty was being tested by the Instructor. 

Only after everyone was free did Nat speak to him again. After everyone left to inform the others of what was going on she practically crashed into Clint and buried her head in his shoulder. He held her there and rubbed gentle circles on her back while she thanked him. Clint was going to be in so much trouble with so many people when he got out of here, but it was worth it in his eyes. 

⧗⧗⧗

Eventually, slowly, Natasha told Clint her story. It made him feel helpless to know that he couldn’t change anything she had been through, but Natasha assured him that it wasn’t his fault. She never told him it was okay, because what she went through wasn’t okay, but that it wasn’t his fault that it had happened. Some nights were harder than others: she would wake up with nightmares of pain and solitude, of unwanted attention. On those nights he would wake up with her, hold her and whisper sweet nothings in her ear until she was calm again. After that they wouldn’t go back asleep (afraid to see the demons she was desperately trying to escape) but they would stay awake and hold each other and dream of the future. 

She wanted to open a ballet school. A real one. Natasha knew she couldn’t hide from her past, but she could use the things it taught her for a good purpose. 

He wanted to live on a farm with her, get a dog, maybe have a few kids. More than anything he wanted to help Natasha achieve her dream and give her everything the Red Room deprived her of. 

Above all, he wanted to be with her and she wanted to be with him. Together, they would work to leave her darkness behind. They would drown it out with light and with happiness.

⧗⧗⧗

Two years after the Red Room, Natasha and Clint had saved up enough to buy their own farmhouse far out in the country. They bought animals. Horses, chickens, cows. They got a dog and named him Lucky. 

Four years after the Red Room, Natasha opened her ballet school. She taught girls ages six through sixteen. It helped her associate dancing with happiness rather than pain. 

Seven years after the Red Room and an expensive bottle of wine, Natasha and Clint discovered they would be parents. Lena for a girl, Elijah for a boy. 

Eight years after the Red Room, Lena was born. Two years after, Elijah. 

Her family, found and made, built back up in her what the Red Room had broken. The darkness would never be completely gone from her mind, but Clint, Lena, and Elijah kept it at bay by shining their bright light in her life. She was free, and they were happy.


	2. 7 Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place 7 years after the main body of Pistols and Pirouettes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I wasn't originally going to add on to this, but I needed something to do while avoiding my main WIP.
> 
> Enjoy!

Nat stared at her scared reflection in the bathroom mirror, the porcelain of the sink cold under her hands. Her knuckles were almost white from how tight she was gripping it. Memories flashed through her mind, some less than pleasant. Memories of moments similar, and yet so very different, from this.

Nat continue to stare at herself in the mirror, hoping it would tell her what to do. It didn’t, of course, because she already knew what to do. She had to tell him.

But how would he react? Excited? Angry? Scared, like she was? They had never talked about this before. Maybe because they avoided the topic, maybe because it had simply never come up. But now she wished they had, that way she knew where she stood.

Nat sighed and closed her eyes, images flashing behind her eyes of that night. Because that’s when this started. Five weeks ago, on a Wednesday.

Clint’s family had left two hours earlier. They’d hosted—or been forced to host, more like—a dinner party for their seventh anniversary. Overall, it had been nice. Nat always enjoyed having them over, having the family dinners and funny conversations she always wished for on the loneliest of nights. Clint’s brother had left behind an expensive bottle of wine from a trip to France as a present.

And well, Nat had never been much of a fan for the stuff, but it felt wrong not to drink it. Before they knew it, the bottle was empty, and they were stumbling their way through the house to the bedroom. Nat was definitely drunk, but she still knew what she was doing. It wasn’t her first time, but she knew this was different.

She wanted this. She wanted him. And he wanted her, and not just because he could. He wanted her because he loved her. Even seven years later this still made her curious. Time and time again she wondered how he could stand her, let alone love her. Time and time again he’d ask her (for he could tell when she had those thoughts), “How could I not?”

Nat’s mind was pulled back to the present when she heard the front door open, followed by the sound of Lucky’s paws as he raced across the hardwood floors. Nat steeled herself before opening the bathroom door. When she did, she was shocked to find Clint already standing on the other side of it.

"Are you okay?” He asked, using a gentle hand to lift her gaze to his. Despite all her training, Nat could never lie to him. He always saw straight through whatever façade she tried to construct, tearing down each wall as easily as if it had never been there at all.

Nat had hoped to assemble her thoughts, and maybe summon a bit of composure, before trying to answer. Instead she barely managed to stammer out the words, “I’m pregnant,” before burying her head in his chest. Things like this were always met with whispers and punishments at the academy, though everyone knew it wasn’t the girls’ faults. She was as nervous now as she had been all those years ago when she couldn’t seem to stop stepping on the toes of a boy she barely knew.

Just as he did then, Clint surprised her with his response. In an impossibly quiet and breathless voice he asked, “Really?”

When Nat nodded her head, face still buried, he (if possible) hugged her tighter. Nat could feel tears pool in her eyes, unsure of whether they were good or bad.

“Do you want it?” Clint asked, pulling away enough to carefully watch Nat’s expression. She stared up at him for a moment, seemingly dazed, before nodding again.

“Yes,” She answered. Then added, “I was worried that you’d be upset.”

“I could never,” Clint said reassuringly. The next day, he began planning his newest home improvement project. And maybe he was partial, but this was definitely his favourite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! Don't forget to leave comments/kudos if you liked this.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, don't forget to check out my other works! Follow me on Instagram (cold.nights.summer.days) for updates on this project as well as others that I am working on. And if you want to scream with me about marvel, follow me on Tumblr (unfathomable-universe)!


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